


barycenter (is romance an inverse-square law?)

by darkenergies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, College, M/M, Roommates, Social Media, also lowkey a street fashion au?, mentions of kuroken ushiten fwb ushisaku and past bokuaka so brief they don't really warrant tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkenergies/pseuds/darkenergies
Summary: Kiyoomi thinks he could spend every spring like this, walking through the park with Akaashi on their way to the local coffee shop with a rotating selection of single origins to try, taking photos with the flowering trees as background like the world’s most stereotypical obnoxious Instagram couple.Snapshots from four years of college apartment sharing, ft. college boys being college boys, flirting in the Instagram comments, and maybe, at the end of it all, finding the puzzle piece you never knew you were missing in a person.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 40





	barycenter (is romance an inverse-square law?)

**Author's Note:**

> CWs: description of short mysophobic panic attack, references to mental illness and therapy (mysophobia, anything else depends on your interpretation), alcohol, brief mentions of real-world societal homophobia (not between characters), descriptions of academic stress, some gross teenage boy level comments about sex that might straddle the T/M rating line
> 
> (this is genuinely much more lighthearted than the above makes it sound; i just wanted to cover all my bases)
> 
> all links are **clickable** and lead to photo references! also, i haven't tested the formatting on mobile so some things might look funky if you're not using a laptop...

If looks could kill, Sakusa Kiyoomi would be down one cousin and probably stomping on the ashes of people currently existing near him in the street. He curses Motoya for at least the fifth time for getting him into this situation. The situation being, of course, meeting up with his prospective future roommate to look at some apartments, because the universe cannot give Kiyoomi nice things like a bed long enough for his body, a single room, a place away from his parents, and reasonable rent at the same time.

“Sakusa-san.” greets Akaashi Keiji, nodding his head politely.

“Drop the -san,” Kiyoomi grumbles, in lieu of an actual greeting in return, “We literally joked about murder within minutes of first texting each other. And we’re the same year.”

Akaashi hums softly in some form of assent. They stand there in the lobby of the first apartment on their shortlist, waiting for the real estate agent to show up, in companionable but nonetheless awkward silence. Kiyoomi contemplates, not for the first time, his entire life and the decisions that got him here.

He still blames Motoya, who turned Kiyoomi’s angry, death threat-laden texts about leaking his number around into convincing him to give Akaashi a chance. Objectively, Motoya’s right: being roommates with Akaashi, who by all accounts is a neat and functional person who color-codes his notebooks and once single-handedly reorganized the entire Fukurodani volleyball club room, was in fact probably his best bet, but it doesn’t mean Kiyoomi has to _like_ it.

(Kiyoomi distinctly blocks out this one text message from Motoya that read: _kiyoomi pls stop saying teenage boys w above average hygiene habits r sexy_. He does not have a type, damn it. Does his cousin not understand sarcasm?)

Look, the whole roommate situation was simply the softest rock to be found when he was stuck between living with his parents (and their absolute lack of communication beyond nagging him to quit volleyball) and commuting, having a random and likely gross roommate in the dorms (he’s traumatized enough from the disaster that was the Itachiyama dorms, particularly the kitchens, and that was with Motoya as a roommate), or spending his entire allowance on rent if he wants to be able to actually lie down fully (being tall in Japan, it turns out, is only good for volleyball and intimidating strangers enough to stay the fuck away from him in the street).

He’s broken from his thoughts by a slight tug of his sleeve that makes Kiyoomi instinctively flinch away from the contact.

Akaashi takes a step backward, apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t want to assume too much about the touch-aversion rumors since they’re well, rumors,” he says, “Anyway, I was going to say that the real estate agent is here.”

* * *

**Motoya**

>howd the thing go

as well as it could ig<  
we’re gonna take a day or two to think on it for sure before signing a lease<  
akaashi said his mom was down to play guarantor if needed thank fucking god<

>neato  
>how was he

i literally just said he saved me from needing to call my parents<  
automatically removes him from the potential hit list until further notice<

>k what else gimme some juicy details

reminder that ur still on said potential hit list<

>psh ik u love me :p  
>gimme one detail plssssssss

...he was wearing comme des garcons play converse?<

>..........i See

what<

>im connectin some dots

* * *

They move into their new apartment on a weekend around the end of March, two weeks before Waseda’s opening ceremonies and a few days after Kiyoomi turns eighteen. Akaashi is in and out for at least a whole week, making more small trips than Kiyoomi can count. When Kiyoomi asks about it one day, Akaashi just shrugs and explains that neither he nor his mom are in any particular rush for him to move out so he’s just living at home and moving his things over when convenient.

What’s it like, having a parent who actually cares about your existence beyond projecting their own fucked-up ideals of success onto you? Kiyoomi was home for less than a week between the Itachiyama dorms closing after graduation and the first day on the new apartment lease. He saw his parents maybe three times that entire period, and one of those was a sad excuse for a combined graduation and birthday dinner at some dumb fancy restaurant. That was a disaster, a litany of “congratulations on graduating!” small talk that was really his parents’ polite way of saying “you’ve graduated high school, isn’t it time to stop fucking around with volleyball to focus on school and getting a job afterward?” and texting Wakatoshi under the table to tune it out.

Naturally, Kiyoomi hightailed it out of there as soon as possible. (He...might have to actually thank Motoya. He doesn’t want to, though. That would mean losing.) He’s made his bed and slept in it; no use in continuing to think about it. Seeing Akaashi’s relationship with his mother just made him think about things, that’s all.

So it’s a surprise when, after Akaashi finally declares that he’s finished moving all of his stuff, Akaashi’s mom claps her hands together and invites Kiyoomi to dinner with them in order to celebrate their move-in. Akaashi just makes a small groan, tells her not to say anything too embarrassing, and walks into his room to change into nicer clothes than the old tshirt and sweatpants he had been wearing to move.

Meanwhile, Kiyoomi stands there in the doorway of his new room, considering. He doesn’t usually like going out to eat since he can’t see if the food is being prepared in a sanitary way and there’s always people around, but...Akaashi’s mom is so nice. And he doesn’t really want to explain to her that his brain is fucked or lie to her with a different excuse. Maybe if he survives this his therapist will count it as a big step forward.

As soon as Akaashi walks back out, his mom takes a look at him and laughs, “Is it physically impossible for you to not look like you’re trying to get photographed by one of those street fashion sites when you walk outside, Keiji?”

“Yes. Except when I’m trying not to look overdressed next to someone like Bokuto, I guess.” Akaashi pouts as he puts his phone, wallet, and keys into a dark beige clutch. “What’s the point of having nice clothes if I don’t wear them?”

At that, Kiyoomi actually looks at what Akaashi’s wearing: a [black knit sweater and loose slacks, paired with a thin red accent belt](https://www.style-arena.jp/photo/individual/z1_6yf20141017.jpg). He’s also holding an expensive-looking gray overcoat in his arms. A little formal, but a nice outfit, Kiyoomi thinks. Then he squints at the writing on the belt. “Is that Westwood?”

Akaashi perks up as his mother groans in the background. “Yes!” he exclaims, “I found it at a thrift store for a super low price, considering the brand.”

Kiyoomi looks down at the red Waseda hoodie he’s been wearing to chill in the apartment and suddenly feels severely underdressed. He does have clothes that can rival Akaashi’s. ”I’ll be right back,” he says, and disappears into his own room to change into something nicer. He emerges a few minutes later in slim-fit jeans and a black turtleneck, swinging a [black leather biker-style jacket](https://www.acnestudios.com/on/demandware.static/-/Sites-acne-product-catalog/default/dwc5932818/images/B7/B70075-/1500x/B70075-900_E.jpg) over his shoulders.

“Oh, nice jacket,” comments Akaashi.

“Thanks.” Kiyoomi lets himself smile, though he already has a face mask on. It feels a little surreal that he and Akaashi are apparently bonding over fashion of all things, instead of their obvious volleyball connection, but he’ll roll with it. He ordered this leather jacket secondhand and lightly used online and he takes care of it as if it were his own child so he’ll take the compliment.

Akaashi’s mom interrupts with a laugh and a happy quip about how her son has finally found a fellow fashionista friend and ushers everyone outside. Then, as if Kiyoomi hadn’t already experienced enough surprises for a night, she directs him and Akaashi to stand under a street lamp and starts taking photos.

At the restaurant, she sends the photos on LINE and somehow convinces the two of them to start a fashion Instagram together between food and drink and conversation. Kiyoomi really doesn’t know how it happened; he’s just been awkwardly sitting and eating his food and answering questions when spoken to. But he and Akaashi end up leaving the restaurant with a fashion Instagram and the picture of them under the street lamp is the first post on it. Life is weird like that.

* * *

akaaaaashi  
**akaashi keiji  
**creative writing+criticism at waseda university. fukurodani c/o 2014. fashion @aks.sks

sakusa.k  
**sakusa kiyoomi  
**itachiyama ‘14, waseda ‘18. i play volleyball. no i will not accept your follow request.

aks.sks  
**akaashi & sakusa  
**fashion exploits of two very tall uni students. photos+captions by the not-pictured one unless otherwise noted. personals: @akaaaaashi @sakusa.k

* * *

“Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”

Kiyoomi startles and warily looks up from his laptop (where he is definitely not watching cute animal videos) toward the kitchen where Akaashi is leaning against the counter, grinding coffee for the second or third time that day. Kiyoomi isn't keeping track. Term started two weeks ago; it’s a Sunday, and, somewhat unusually, Akaashi has stayed with him in the apartment all day instead of going out to wherever he usually spends all his time.

“You can say no; I’m just curious,” Akaashi continues. The kettle clicks and he starts rinsing the filter, preheating the pourover cone.

Kiyoomi thinks, trying to decide if he wants to be perceived today. Signs point to strongly neutral. “Hm, depends on the question,” he eventually answers.

Akaashi turns his head towards where Kiyoomi is seated at the kotatsu and just stares and blinks for a second, looking surprised that Kiyoomi would even agree to that much. That’s...a pretty fair assessment, to be honest, but Kiyoomi still feels kind of offended somehow. Weird. “Oh,” Akaashi says, finally, “I was just wondering about why you wanted a roommate in the first place. I was surprised that Komori-san mentioned it when all I wanted was just to say hello since we’d be going to the same school. I figured your volleyball scholarship would include housing or something.”

Ah, right. Sometimes Kiyoomi forgets that thanks to _Volleyball Monthly_ , basically the entire Japanese volleyball scene knows that he turned down multiple professional offers to attend university and play for Waseda. He still doesn’t know how he feels about that. Maybe the information being out there helped get him a decent roommate but there are several Tokyo-wide high school volleyball group chats that could’ve done the same thing. Maybe Akaashi has them all muted like he does.

Well, it’s not a particularly invasive question, all things considered, so Kiyoomi shrugs and replies, “The available housing was in the dorms and didn’t have any singles for freshmen. I managed to negotiate to have them just pay me the would-be dorm costs to subsidize living off-campus if I couldn’t find a suitable roommate. Then you contacted me and suggested an apartment and I remembered how disgusting the common areas in the Itachiyama dorms were.”

“Ah, the burnt ramen in the kitchen. I remember you mentioning that over text.” Akaashi nods sagely while continuing to pour a steady stream of water in circles over his coffee grounds.

Kiyoomi groans. “Shit like that happened all the time. Don’t remind me. Anyway, I didn’t want to live with my parents because fuck them, half the cost of a two-bedroom place like this would probably only get me a studio that I could barely lie down in because I’m tall, and well, here we are.”

“That’s fair, I suppose.”

Another thought pops into Kiyoomi’s head and he thinks, quid pro quo. He gets asked a personal question, he’ll ask one back. “Why did you suggest an apartment, by the way?” he asks, “Why did you move out at all, actually? You have a good relationship with your mom from what I could tell.” Unlike me, Kiyoomi continues his last sentence in his head and prays Akaashi doesn’t notice or call him out on it.

“Oh!” Akaashi laughs and places his fresh mug of coffee on the dining room table before turning back to clean up. “My mom’s wanted to move to a smaller place further away from the city and closer to her parents for a while but didn’t want to disrupt my studies, so I moved out to let her do that. I’m going back soon for golden week to help her start packing things up. She was also the one who suggested the apartment so I wouldn’t have to worry about having a place to keep my stuff between terms.”

That makes sense. Kiyoomi pushes down the little bud of jealousy about having a parent who cares that much and returns to watching dumb videos on Youtube. Akaashi settles into one of the dining room chairs with his coffee to continue reading a book and silence settles over the apartment.

* * *

[Full-body photo of Akaashi in a [dark gray, almost black asymmetrical jacket with narrow notched lapels over a black turtleneck](https://www.style-arena.jp/images/snaps/201602/2016022212199-05.jpg), skinny jeans, and [black high-top Converse with the red Comme des Garcons Play heart](https://www.converse.ca/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/1800x/040ec09b1e35df139433887a97daa66f/1/5/150204c_008_e_prem_3.jpg). He’s also carrying a [black Bao Bao Issey Miyake bag](https://www.style-arena.jp/images/snaps/201602/2016022212199-07.jpg).]

 **aks.sks** pictured: @akaaaaashi trying to steal my all-black aesthetic  
**akaaaaashi** you can’t own an aesthetic, sakusa  
**sakusa.k** sorry should i have captioned it “akaashi flexing his 45k yen designer bag”  
**akaaaaashi** I BOUGHT IT SECOND HAND I TOLD YOU THIS

[Full-body photo of Sakusa in a [thin black cardigan-like leather jacket with front draping over a black tshirt, skinny black pants with leather patch details, and black heeled boots. He also accessorized with a few silver chain necklaces](https://tokyofashion.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/NK-2019-11-04-038-001-Bunka-DZ7-2153.jpg).]

 **aks.sks** bold of @sakusa.k to claim that i tried to steal his all-black aesthetic when beyond the color scheme he has entirely different vibes smh...

* * *

It takes Kiyoomi noticing light shining out from underneath Akaashi’s door when he wakes up at his usual 6 am and heads to the bathroom to realize something is wrong.

For all that they’ll snap photos of each other for their Instagram every few weekends or the occasional weekday off where they can dress up a bit, Kiyoomi doesn’t actually see all that much of Akaashi on a day-to-day basis. Kiyoomi has morning practice most days so he’s out of the apartment and on the train to campus by 6:30, but the earliest classes at Waseda begin at 9, so Akaashi is still asleep when he leaves. He doesn’t know what Akaashi does during the day except that he usually returns to the apartment late (if he returns at all), when Kiyoomi has already returned to his own room to study or is spending thirty minutes in the bathroom doing his skincare before bed.

If there is one thing Kiyoomi’s managed to learn about the former Fukurodani setter and captain from a few months of cohabitation, though, it’s that he is at least slightly addicted to caffeine. Kiyoomi hasn’t seen him drink less than three cups of coffee in a day when they do spend a free weekend together in the apartment. Kiyoomi likes coffee too, but he tries to limit himself, and three cups, at minimum, just seems...excessive. Possibly indicative of caffeine dependence. So ever since he saw Akaashi neatly putting away his coffee setup, even going so far as to disinfect the kitchen countertops, during one of their first weekends living together, Kiyoomi just assumes that the state of the kitchen is reflective of how well Akaashi is doing since he probably _has_ to be drinking coffee regularly.

Kiyoomi’s not worried about Akaashi’s coffee intake. Not at all. He barely sees the other man; there is absolutely no reason to care.

Also, as a leftover habit from living in the Itachiyama dorms, Kiyoomi keeps his own dishware in his room after cleaning them thoroughly. He usually spends his time outside of class and volleyball practice during the day holed up in one of the private study spaces in the basement science and engineering library, even if he doesn't have schoolwork to do. Therefore, he really can’t be blamed for not noticing anything for several days since the kitchen’s been clean whenever he glances at it.

Inhale. Exhale. Kiyoomi walks to the fridge and takes out the protein shake he prepared last night before going to bed, squeezes the solid plastic bottle as if it were a stress ball.

He generally doesn't like people who fail to take care of themselves. He never thought Akaashi might be one of them.

Kiyoomi gingerly pushes Akaashi’s door open with the bottom of his bottle, a harsh reprimand on the tip of his tongue. His words die on his lips as he takes in the sight of Akaashi slumped over on his desk, glasses crooked, pen still loosely held between his fingers. Then he notices the several empty mugs on the desk and empty UCC coffee cans and konbini onigiri wrappers and _oh god_ are those eraser shavings or dust on the desk there has to be germs everywhere nothing has been cleaned in days the trash can is full Kiyoomi needs to get out and set the entire entire place on fire.

He can feel the edges of his vision blurring. Kiyoomi half-stumbles backwards, manages to put his protein shake back in the fridge, and practically runs back to his own room. His hands are shaking.

Deep breath in, two, three, four, five. Hold, two, three, four, five. Breathe out, two, three, four, five. Kiyoomi closes his eyes, takes another deep breath. He clenches and opens his hands one finger at a time, resisting the urge to slather them in sanitizer. He knows his room is clean and safe.

Kiyoomi checks his phone; only five minutes have passed. He texts his coach about not being able to make it to practice that morning and walks back to the kitchen to put on the kettle, studiously avoiding the sight of Akaashi’s room through the still slightly open door. His therapist suggested chamomile or lavender tea after panic attacks for their calming qualities, and while Kiyoomi is not quite convinced of how effective the tea itself actually is, he finds the ritual of preparing the tea and the cleanup process calming so he does it anyway.

After his tea, Kiyoomi finally feels ready to deal with Akaashi’s room. So he pulls on a mask and bright yellow cleaning gloves like armor; picks up the meter-long trash grabber, the XL bottle of disinfectant, a roll of paper towels, and an empty trash bag like a sword and shield.

No longer caught off guard by the mess, Kiyoomi strides back into the room and makes a beeline straight for the desk, propping his cleaning supplies against the wall and shaking the slumped over Akaashi awake. Akaashi blinks groggily for a few seconds, then shoots up to sit ramrod straight, glasses clattering off his face and onto the table. “What time is it?”

“Around 6:30.”

“Fuck.” Akaashi’s eyes are wide and panicked as he inspects the notebook he had been using as a pillow and frantically boots up his laptop. “I told myself I’d finish this assignment by tonight but I fell asleep halfway through and I have a lecture this afternoon that’s only fifteen students so they’ll notice me if I’m gone but I’ve been working on this for three days already and I don’t know how I’m going to finish this in time and what if it didn’t save—”

Kiyoomi takes in Akaashi’s exhausted face. “Is it actually due tonight?”

“No...”

“Then why the fuck does it need to be done by tonight?”

Akaashi grabs a different notebook, presumably a planner, and gestures vaguely to an open page. “Scheduling…” he mutters and trails off, clearly about to fall back asleep again.

Kiyoomi sighs. He still wants to lecture on the importance of taking care of oneself. But Akaashi is too tired to have a coherent conversation right now, so Kiyoomi grabs one of his arms and starts dragging him towards the bed. His therapist would be so proud of him, voluntarily touching another person, even if through gloves. “Go sleep on your bed. I have lab in the afternoon so I’ll wake you up for your lecture. Now move so I can bury my own stress about the state of your room by cleaning it.”

* * *

**Motoya**

can i talk to you for a hot sec idk who else to talk to<

>yea ofc  
>brain bullshit? ngl theres not a lot that would make u say smth like that to me

...yeah<  
...i may have gotten a tiny panic attack this morning<

>oh shit are you okay do you need me to hop on the train i know you have no friends

no it’s fine it was only idk 5 minutes long<  
i recognized the early signs and managed to get away and calm down before the attack got anywhere near im-going-to-literally-die-rn bad<  
its just. it was kind of my own fault for being a nosy bitch<  
and idk how i feel about that<

>your panic attacks arent your fault

i literally triggered myself though????<

>also uhhh just a reminder that i am not your therapist and you should definitely screenshot this and send it to him or smth

yeah my usual appointments on friday i know i just<  
needed to talk<  
to someone<

* * *

A knock on the door interrupts Kiyoomi glaring at his mechanics textbook (there’s an equation he needs that he doesn’t want to rederive but he can’t find the damn thing in the textbook to cite) on a Saturday afternoon. “Push it open,” he calls out, “But don’t come in.”

“Huh,” Akaashi’s voice comes from the direction of his door, “You didn’t remind me about the hand sanitizer this time.”

Kiyoomi swivels around in his chair. “What do you want?”

“We should talk.” Akaashi looks kind of anxious; he’s leaning faux-casually against the doorframe and fiddling with his fingers. “About Tuesday.”

Oh, right. They should probably talk about that; they’ve been avoiding each other even more than usual for the last few days. Kiyoomi resigns himself to rederiving the equation he needs and grabs a mug from his shelf. He feels like tea will be helpful.

A few minutes later, Akaashi sits at one end of their dining room table, fiddling with the rim of his own mug and avoiding eye contact. Kiyoomi sits at the other end and stares at him for what feels like many minutes (realistically, it’s probably more like thirty seconds) before realizing Akaashi isn’t going to be the one to start talking first. He sighs. Time to get this over with. “Sorry I went into your room. But also you seemed to really need a fucking intervention or something so I’m not actually that sorry.”

Akaashi finally looks up. “Well, that was a shitty apology.” The _try again_ is implied in his tone.

“We agreed when we moved in that our rooms were going to be our private spaces and I violated that agreement by entering your room on Tuesday morning and I apologize for that.”

Akaashi makes a humming sound and then nods, seemingly satisfied. “Apology accepted, thank you. For the intervention, as you called it in your first attempt, and for cleaning my room as well; you didn’t need to do that.”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “It wasn’t for your benefit. It was so I wouldn’t have a room-sized trigger in my own damn apartment and worry about getting another p—” Then his brain finally catches up to his mouth and he abruptly cuts off the sentence. _Shit_.

“Well, it did make you miss morning practice, didn’t it…” Akaashi trails off. “Wait, were you about to say you had a panic attack?”

Oh no. They are absolutely not on the friendship level required to unlock this part of his backstory. “No,” Kiyoomi lies.

“Liar,” says Akaashi, immediately. Then, a beat later, softer: “I thought the cleanliness requirement was just personal preference or a you-don’t-want-me-around thing, not a trigger for an actual medical condition...I did my best to keep everything confined to my room to deal with later but I wouldn’t have done that at all if I’d known, sorry.”

They are not talking about this. “I said no.”

“Look, I know you’re lying.” Akaashi just lets out a tired sigh and continues, “I won’t press for details but like, I’ve already been trying to leave the apartment to you most of the time anyway but some stuff is going on in my life and that won’t be as possible in the future, so if we’re going to keep living together...are there any other environmental triggers I might need to know about?”

Akaashi’s been avoiding the apartment...for him? That seems incredibly unfair. If he wanted Akaashi out he would’ve said so. “You pay half the rent so this is your apartment as much as mine. You’ve never needed to avoid it; what are you talking about?”

“Sakusa...you know people living in a space creates a bit of mess no matter what, right? It was the lowest effort way to keep everything clean.” Akaashi laughs, a little sarcastic, a little mean and petty. “Anyway, that was a deflection if I ever heard one.”

Why is Akaashi so perceptive, ugh. Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s getting out of this one, so he relents and groans out, as sarcastically as possible, “Technically, the whole fucking world is a potential trigger when you have mysophobia.”

Akaashi pointedly crosses his arms and continues doing this disappointed-but-not-surprised, not-quite-glaring stare. Kiyoomi suddenly feels sorry for any Fukurodani underclassman who might have ended up on the opposite end of it.

Kiyoomi flops his head down onto his arms and says into them, “My main triggers are symptoms of being sick like coughing or sneezing; unclean spaces, particularly visible messes; and dense crowds." He can usually brace himself and avoid a full-blown panic attack if he knows about it ahead of time, though. Tuesday's incident was really mostly because he was surprised.

Immediately, Akaashi seems to brighten up. “Thanks!” he says cheerfully, and then, more seriously, “Let me know if I can help with anything besides just keeping this place clean and like, not being sick around you which is common sense anyway. I’m sorry if you felt like I pressured you into telling me about your condition.”

Is he being patronized? He feels like he might be. This was literally why, more than anything else, he didn’t want to talk about the mysophobia. People always start treating him like he's made of glass once they know, and he hates it. “I’m not a fucking charity case,” Kiyoomi spits out, “I’m getting better, I’m seeing a therapist, I can mostly function normally, and if I needed your help I would literally just say so.”

Honestly, he doesn’t expect Akaashi to just shrug and let out a sigh in response. “I know we’re not that close, but I’m here if you just want a friend,” he explains, “Mine were pretty helpful in helping me manage my own anxiety and tendency to overthink things.”

Kiyoomi snorts, “You call passing out at your desk mumbling about schedules and making your room a literal biohazard ‘managing’?” It’s more than a little mean, but he’s feeling extra bitchy at the moment; somehow Akaashi had managed to turn this entire talk around to him and he doesn’t appreciate that.

“Wow.” Akaashi leans back into his chair, faux-casual. “One, fuck you, I hope you’re self-aware enough to know that comment was uncalled for and you’re an asshole,” he snipes back, counting off on his fingers. “Two, sorry for having an off week because I was dealing with personal shit. Three, some empty mugs and food packaging—largely in the trash, by the way—does not constitute a biohazard. Your mysophobia exaggerating that does not give you free rein to be a dick. Four, I just want to remind you that all I asked for were environmental triggers so that I could work around them and not accidentally give you another panic attack.”

Speech finished, Akaashi stands up and pointedly goes to the sink to wash his tea mug, leaving Kiyoomi reeling in his seat.

Well, Kiyoomi sure fucked that one up. A voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously similar to Motoya in nagging, please-Kiyoomi-we-live-in-a-society mode starts screaming at him to suck up his pride and apologize. He knew immediately after saying it that last comment had crossed a line but apology still feels like lead on his tongue, swallowing a handful of dry saltine crackers, or that absolutely stupid internet challenge about eating a spoonful of straight cinnamon.

(To be honest, Kiyoomi is just not used to being well, out-bitched, especially like this. He’s usually the most acerbic person in the room.)

“I’m sorry,” he finally manages to grit out, just as Akaashi is about to walk back to his own room, “You’re right, that last comment was out of line, and I was probably being overly defensive.”

Akaashi stops, turns back around to face Kiyoomi, and lets out a deep breath. “I’m not actually that mad,” he says, “I definitely pushed you past your comfort zone. But also someone needed to call you out on your shit.”

That’s...a fair point. Kiyoomi flounders for a response for several seconds before nodding, because there’s really not much else to say. “Do you maybe want to go to one of the coffee shops you like in an hour or so?” he finally asks, a peace offering.

“Sure,” replies Akaashi, recognizing and taking the olive branch for what it is. He turns back around to disappear into his room. “Don’t dress up or anything, though. I’m in a cozy hoodie mood.”

* * *

[[Artistic photo of an affogato](https://d1q0twczwkl2ie.cloudfront.net/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Frankie-2.jpg).]

 **sakusa.k** some things are worth breaking the athlete diet for  
**akaaaaashi**...so will you consider getting an espresso machine or even just a manual espresso maker for the kitchen  
**sakusa.k** i am not further enabling your caffeine dependence 

* * *

Something changes after what Kiyoomi has dubbed The Argument™ in his head. True to his previous words, Akaashi does seem to be around more than before; he’s often already in the apartment when Kiyoomi gets back in the late afternoon or evening a lot of the time now. Akaashi starts leaving his room door fully open a lot as he works. Kiyoomi's not sure if it's just Akaashi demonstrating that his room will stay neat or an open invitation to talk to each other more that he never takes. But it’s good. The atmosphere in their apartment gets less awkward and tense by the day, the two of them just existing around each other as they live their everyday lives. Everything is kept clean, Akaashi seems to get over whatever he was dealing with, and Kiyoomi has more good brain days than bad ones.

The change is kind of like going from an unstable equilibrium to a stable one, second derivative going from negative to positive and all that. Or maybe the better analogy is a contracting pre-main sequence star, collapsing in on itself to the point where hydrogen ignites, but then establishing hydrostatic equilibrium and shining even brighter.

Whatever. Akaashi’s the creative writing major. He’s better at metaphors than Kiyoomi could ever hope to be.

Eventually, the usual situation becomes such that the dining table replaces both of their desks. Kiyoomi actually started studying outside his room first; he was very tired from practice one day but had a problem set to finish that night and his padded ergonomic chair (he will not call it a gamer chair, he may have been Smash champion of Itachiyama three years in a row but he is not a gamer, he got that chair for back support) was just a bit _too_ comfortable so he had moved to the dining room, and somehow working there with the threat of Akaashi walking out any second and possibly judging him for not staying on task actually boosted his productivity. So he kept doing it. Then Akaashi caught on and now they just both work at the table with headphones on, in mutual silence.

It’s a good system. It works, and even though they don’t speak, Kiyoomi finds himself getting pretty comfortable with Akaashi’s presence and proximity. He didn’t even say anything when Akaashi accidentally left a mostly-empty cup of coffee behind on the table when he went back to his room once.

(Okay, yes, maybe the therapy is helping too. They’re working together. Mutualism, if he remembers high school biology correctly.)

In another surprising turn of events, it’s Kiyoomi who breaks the unspoken mutual silence agreement of their studying sessions. To be fair, it’s because he’s internally freaking out about this really weirdly formatted exam he has in two days for a small introduction to stellar physics class (half the class dropped when they realized that stellar physics meant actual _physics_ and not pretty pictures). The department had stuck a new professor on it and, while that professor was actually very good at teaching, he had some weird testing ideas he’d picked up during his PhD in America. Like, what the fuck is an oral exam? All Kiyoomi knows is that he has to show up at his professor’s office at a designated time to get asked questions verbally and work out problems on the board. So, after at least fifteen minutes of internal debate, he finally breaks the silence and asks, “Hey Akaashi, would you mind quizzing me on these practice problems?”

Akaashi looks up from his book, surprised. “Sure?” he replies, sounding confused, “That seems unusual for you but I’m just reading this for fun, anyway. I have time. All the physics I know is whatever I needed for entrance exams, though.”

Kiyoomi explains that he mostly just wants practice with the verbal question-and-answer format, because even if he won't be able to shake off being stared at by a professor, he figures he can at least get used to talking out loud. Akaashi hums in understanding, comments "That's kind of weird, but actually maybe better a better way to test understanding and problem solving," and then goes to rummage around in his room because apparently he has a whiteboard Kiyoomi can use.

Akaashi returns with said whiteboard and several different colored markers, wiping them down with a disinfecting wipe unprompted before putting them on Kiyoomi’s side of the table. The idea of marrying Akaashi for tax benefits suddenly pops into Kiyoomi’s head (well, if he was straight and Akaashi was a girl because the government of Japan is a piece of shit, and if—wait, what the fuck?). “Thanks,” Kiyoomi says instead. He slides a stack of notecards across the table and then focuses on explaining the Hertzsprung-Russell diagram he drew on the whiteboard.

* * *

[Selfie taken by Kuroo of Bokuto, Akaashi, and a grumpy-looking Sakusa around the kotatsu in Sakusa and Akaashi’s apartment. Akaashi sits noticeably closer to Sakusa than the others. Kenma can be seen lying on the floor in the background, playing a game on his PSP.]

 **kuroo_t** welcome 2 bro squad @sakusa.k we’re replacing tsukishima for proximity reasons (ft. kenma being kenma💖)  
**nodzuken** pls clarify that i am not part of ur dumb squad, i am not ur bro i am ur bf and i have special privileges  
**kuroo_t** thats why i didnt call u over for the selfie!!! do u see the heart in my caption!! its for u only!!  
**akaaaaashi** lmao whipped  
**sakusa.k** you guys showed up at our apartment because you got caught in a storm. i want no part of this  
**bokutobeam** NO TAKEBACKS!!!  
**kuroo_t** too late lol  
**akaaaaashi** this is my fault im sorry sakusa  
**tsukikei** finally i have been released from my prison  
**sakusa.k** wait i like your attitude please stay i need a suffer buddy  
**tsukikei** no

* * *

It’s the Saturday before his second spring semester begins when it hits Kiyoomi. He blames it on the cherry blossoms; there is a stray petal tangled in Akaashi’s hair and Kiyoomi’s hands, leather-gloved and shoved deep into his coat pockets, twitch with the barely restrained urge to reach out and—

“Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi stops, blinks, almost trips over his own feet. Akaashi stands underneath a low-hanging branch, one hand slightly raised to gently tug the end closer to his face. “Sakusa,” he says again, face framed by pink-petaled flowers, a gentle smile on his face. “Photo for our Instagram?”

Spring suits Akaashi: his dark hair and earth-toned wardrobe, a gentle base to the pastels of the season; the blush in his cheeks from the soft bite of the late-March wind, echoed in the soft pink of cherry blossoms; the color of his eyes, shifting endlessly in the sunlight between clear sky blue and hopeful bright green.

If Kiyoomi takes a few extra close-up pictures of Akaashi’s face in addition to the more full-bodied fashion shots for their Instagram, no one has to know. Kiyoomi thinks he could spend every spring like this, walking through the park with Akaashi on their way to the local coffee shop with a rotating selection of single origins to try, taking photos with the flowering trees as background like the world’s most stereotypical obnoxious Instagram couple.

Wait. _Couple_?

Ah, fuck.

* * *

[Full-body photo of Akaashi looking at the camera with slightly pouted lips, one hand tugging a branch covered in cherry blossoms down so it forms a lopsided arch over his head. He’s wearing a [loosely-fitted dark brown shirt over black skinny jeans and a pair of Doc Martens. A medium-length tan overcoat is draped over his shoulders and he’s holding a black leather clutch](https://64.media.tumblr.com/3c7070948b676b5e515eaaffbe67ea53/eba8a65ef9637e15-3f/s640x960/d1eb3c9ebaaf835ac713a32512c846227edb02c3.jpg).]

 **aks.sks** Spring is @akaaaaashi’s season, don’t you think?

[Full-body photo of Sakusa standing with his hands in his pockets in the middle of the pedestrian path in the park, looking down, expression hidden behind a white facemask. He’s wearing a [long black coat over skinny jeans and a pair of lace-up platform boots](https://tokyofashion.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/Yohji-Yamamoto-Never-Mind-the-XU-Harajuku-20160306DSC4326.jpg).]

 **aks.sks** Not pictured: @sakusa.k throwing a fit and refusing to touch the actual trees, even through leather gloves, because he was afraid of the mere possibility of bugs.  
**sakusa.k** for the record i am not AFRAID of bugs they are simply gross 0/10 do not interact  
**sakusa.k** also i gave your pic a nice caption and this is how you repay me????????  
**akaaaaashi** ;) (was six months enough for you to think i wouldn’t get revenge for 20140916?)

* * *

Here’s the thing. Kiyoomi knows Akaashi is pretty. He has known this since high school; as the top two teams in Tokyo, Itachiyama played Fukurodani often enough and Kiyoomi has eyes. According to Motoya, gossip whore that he is, Akaashi was voted Tokyo’s prettiest high school volleyball player three years in a row. Kiyoomi doesn’t know who voted but he’s pretty sure it was one of the giant LINE groups Motoya tried to add him to in their first year of high school.

Anyway, the point is that Akaashi being pretty is not news to anyone, much less Kiyoomi. In fact, Kiyoomi considers the majority of the followers on their fashion Insta to be due to Akaashi being a beautiful human person and walking fashion school stereotype despite being a creative writing major (Akaashi, on the other hand, believes the majority are actually volleyball fans since Kiyoomi deletes all their follow requests on his personal account). So, there is absolutely no reason why, ever since their totally casual coffee bean refill run turned cherry blossom photoshoot in the park, Kiyoomi has been thinking about holding Akaashi’s hand as if they’re actually dating or something. Akaashi is his _roommate_ , for fucks sake.

Kiyoomi’s had crushes before, infatuation-at-first-sight things that eventually faded into respect and friendship. He still texts Iizuna on occasion and he’s been meeting up with Wakatoshi about once a month whenever their schedules allow since the latter joined the Adlers and moved to Tokyo. But this is uncharted territory and he refuses to text Motoya. His cousin will literally never stop making fun of him.

The worst thing is that he’s not even, like, _horny_ about it. If he was, he could just jerk off or hit Wakatoshi up on his long standing friends-with-benefits-while-Tendou-Satori-is-abroad-for-culinary-school offer, work off some of that energy. It wouldn't have been the first time. Instead, Kiyoomi’s daydreams are filled with sappy shit like holding hands in the park or cuddling under the kotatsu in the winter while they shop online for more clothes or Akaashi teaching him his V60 recipe so Kiyoomi can bring him his favorite coffee and kiss him on the cheek.

God, Kiyoomi is so fucked. He’s going to focus on volleyball and problem sets and lab reports and not think about wanting to date Akaashi Keiji.

* * *

[Full-body photo of Sakusa wearing a [loose-fitting black smocked top over leather pants with shirred knee details and asymmetric pockets, low-cut leather lace-up boots, and a white face mask](https://tokyofashion.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/NK-2020-07-12-010-002-Harajuku-DZ7-2258.jpg).]

 **sks.aks** Happy golden week! We’re taking advantage of not having classes to go actual shopping instead of online shopping for once. If you see us around stop and say hi!  
**sakusa.k** you can say hi to akaashi. do not talk to me, do not interact with me

[Full-body photo of Akaashi holding a bubble tea in each hand. He’s wearing a [long greyish-green coat over a loose off-white knit top and pleated black pants](https://www.style-arena.jp/images/snaps/201905/2019050916104-04.jpg).]

 **sks.aks** @akaaaaashi convinced me to not spend the entirety of golden week cooped up in our apartment (as I wanted to) by bribing me with bubble tea…  
**kodzuken** whats ur order @sakusa.k ill bribe u to come over and play smash  
**sakusa.k** oolong milk tea, 25% sugar, no ice, boba. though if a store has some kind of fresh fruit tea, that with no additional sugar  
**sakusa.k** but if it involves kicking @kuroo_t’s ass i would come over for free

* * *

Disaster comes, as it often does, in the form of one Kuroo Tetsurou with a bag of konbini beer and chuhais. He’s taken it upon himself to be the official alcohol supplier of their apartment because, apparently, according to him, they're both too chickenshit to lie about their age by tapping a touchscreen at the register. He’s completely wrong, but Kiyoomi thinks Akaashi gets some sick amusement over Kuroo spending his own money to make sure there’s always some booze in their apartment, so they have this unspoken agreement to never call Kuroo out on it.

Today, Kuroo had texted the groupchat with a single _u down for bitching hours tonite_ and showed up at the door an hour later. Kiyoomi still isn’t sure how or why, but between the first time he had shown up with Bokuto and Kozume because they'd all been hanging out with Akaashi and gotten caught in the rain, Kuroo has managed to worm his way into being a semi-permanent fixture in the apartment.

Kiyoomi lets Kuroo in, since Akaashi is in his room trying to finish writing down some thoughts about an assignment before he forgets them. “You know the drill,” he says, tossing a nearby container of disinfecting wipes at him. Kuroo dutifully takes them and heads into the kitchen, emptying his bag of booze and wiping down every can and bottle before placing them into the fridge.

“You drinking tonight?” Kuroo asks, holding out a can.

“Yeah, sure,” Kiyoomi shrugs. He’s having a good brain day. He’s been having a lot more of those recently and his therapist is very happy with his progress. He takes the offered can, lemon flavor chuhai, from Kuroo and sits down at the kitchen table. “Did you have something specific you wanted to bitch about?”

“Damn, let a guy fucking drink first,” Kuroo laughs. He cracks open his own beer and chugs half the can in one go.

Kiyoomi stares and wipes down the lip of his can again before cracking the tab. “That bad? Or are you being dramatic again?”

Kuroo has just opened his mouth to reply when Akaashi comes out of his room and glares at them as he walks to the fridge. “I can’t believe you started drinking without me,” he mutters, “Fucking assholes.”

Akaashi’s glare is kind of lost behind his slightly mussed hair and glasses though, Kiyoomi thinks. He looks very cute. Kiyoomi kind of wants to hold his hand and tangle their fingers together. Kiyoomi is not supposed to think about his roommate like that. Kiyoomi takes a long sip from his chuhai and tries to not make it dramatic.

“My preferred title is bastard, thanks,” Kuroo retorts, thankfully seemingly ignorant of Kiyoomi’s plight.

“You’re a fucking pain in the ass,” Akaashi shoots back.

“I sure hope I’m not because the only person whose ass should be in pain because of me is Kenma.”

“First of all, I didn’t need to know that, you’re fucking disgusting,” Kiyoomi interrupts, “Second of all, use more lube then, what the fuck.”

Akaashi giggles. Kiyoomi can feel his eyes softening in his direction and tells himself it’s completely involuntary. “Okay, bottom. Whatever makes you feel better,” Akaashi says, gesturing toward Kuroo with his drink.

Kuroo opens and closes his mouth. Kiyoomi smirks. “You look like a fucking fish,” he states, as flatly as possible. “Finish your gross wheat water and start talking about why you’re here.”

* * *

**Ushijima Wakatoshi**

can i like<  
drumk type at u<  
my shitty cousins gna mock me forev er if i text him<

>Go ahead.  
>I have a feeling I know what this is about…

ok s o<  
kuroos here as fuckign usual bc when else do i drink<  
adn ofc akaashis drinkin with us but he gets the asig n glow so ba d and god<  
HIS CHEEKS R SO P INIK AN D HIS GLASSES R KINDA CROOKE D ADN I WANNA DFIX EM………….<  
akaashi si so cute n i wanna kiss him so bad<  
do u think his hair is so ft i feel like its soft hsi conditioner is fanc yit prob smells nice too<

>This is exactly what I thought this would be about.

FUCK YUO<

>Been there, done that.

FIRE DN SHIP C ANCELLED DICK UNSUCC D<

* * *

Things devolve when, at some point, Akaashi breaks out the flavored soju. Kiyoomi is inebriated enough that he no longer cares about his usual no liquids by soft fabric rule so they’ve all moved over to the kotatsu. Kuroo, a bad and selfish person, is sprawled out over all the cushions on one side. Kiyoomi and Akaashi are sitting like normal people who take up normal amounts of space on the opposite side, one corner of the table between them.

Akaashi flops his head against Kiyoomi’s shoulder. His hair smells nice, lightly floral with hints of citrus. Kiyoomi is going to scream. Instead, he pours some grape soju into his glass, downs it in one gulp, and has to physically stop himself from moving to pet Akaashi’s hair as he moves his hands back under the blanket.

Of course, Kuroo takes that moment to ask, slightly slurred, “So Akaashi, how’s Bokuto doing?”

Right. Bokuto Koutarou. Kiyoomi has nothing against the guy as a human being other than some side-eyes during high school when the wing spiker would go into one of his emo modes during a game. He'll occasionally come over with Kuroo to hang out too and Kiyoomi honestly doesn't really mind. He hasn’t shown up for a few months, though, and Kiyoomi has the group chat muted so he doesn’t know why. More importantly, however, Bokuto is the reason Kiyoomi doesn’t have a fucking chance with Akaashi and is currently trying to drink away his feelings (his therapist said not to drink when he’s feeling anxious or anything like that but he is not feeling that way; he is _pining_ , there is a difference) because from what he knows, Akaashi Keiji is either in a relationship with Bokuto Koutarou or he is straight. And unless Kiyoomi’s gaydar, as a gay man himself, is absolutely fucked, there’s no way it’s the latter.

Kiyoomi downs another shot of soju.

“Oh, he’s doing fine, I think. He said he was settling in with his new team in Osaka,” replies Akaashi, “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“Last time I did, he spammed me with texts about how he has no idea what he did to make one of their setters be a dick to him from the get-go.”

Oh. Osaka. That explains why Bokuto hasn’t been around. “What team is he playing for now?” Kiyoomi asks.

“MSBY Black Jackals,” Akaashi says, still leaning into Kiyoomi’s shoulder, “One of their spikers is retiring soon so they opened up tryouts and Bokuto-san’s goal was always bigger than the Div 2 team he was playing for here. He’s finishing his degree online.”

MSBY, Kiyoomi thinks fuzzily. He’s pretty sure that’s where Miya Atsumu ended up. “Oh,” he turns to address Kuroo, “Miya’s been a dick since high school. We had national training camps together. Tell Bokuto it isn’t personal.”

As Kuroo attempts to type a message into his phone, Akaashi continues, “Also, Kuroo-san, you know that Bokuto-san and I broke up like a year ago, and while we’re still good friends, we’re trying not to be attached at the hip anymore. So in the future, ask him yourself.”

What. _What the fuck?_ Kiyoomi’s brain cannot process this information right now. He is simultaneously too sober and too drunk for this. He feels his jaw drop and the “ _Wait what?_ ” come out of his mouth, unbidden.

“Oh, you know.” Akaashi twirls a free hand in the air. Kiyoomi stares at his fingers.

Kuroo has a shit-eating smirk on his face, like he knows exactly what is going on and wants nothing more than to watch everything unfold. “I don’t think he does, Akaashi. You should elaborate.”

“Mmm, okay.” Akaashi proceeds to remove his head from Kiyoomi’s shoulder and slide down into the floor cushions until the top of his head is pressing against Kiyoomi’s thigh. He wiggles around, getting comfortable. “There’s not much to it, honestly. I confessed at his graduation and we dated until like a few months after I started college. It was fine? Just the more time we spent dating the more we realized we actually felt different things for each other? Like Bokuto-san never really saw me as more than his best friend ever, even though we’d kiss and stuff.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “You deserve better than that.”

“No, really, it’s totally fine; it was kinda rough for a bit but we worked it out.” Akaashi shrugs to the best of his ability from his position on the floor. “He’s pretty sure he just doesn’t experience romantic attraction to people like, at all. We Googled it together one day. There’s more stuff about it on the English side of the Internet.”

“...Huh. The more you know.”

“Did you fuck though?” Kuroo pipes up, clearly trying to hold back his ugly hyena laugh. Kiyoomi hates this man, he truly does. No amount of stress-relieving mutual bitching sessions between the three of them can make up for it.

Akaashi shoots up to a sitting position. “What the fuck, of course we did. It’s probably what I miss the most, actually, 'cause hookups freak me out unless I can see their STD test results.”

Holy shit. Is it possible to fall in love with your already-pretty roommate over a shared paranoia of STDs?

“Anyway,” Akaashi continues, “People have sex without romantic feelings involved all the time? Sorry you can’t relate.”

“I’m sure Sakusa over there can’t either,” Kuroo scoffs.

Kiyoomi’s drunk and still reeling from the unexpected Bokuto revelations so his brain-to-mouth filter is unfortunately very much offline. He blames this when he blurts out, “I’ve literally had Ushijima Wakatoshi’s dick up my ass platonically. I can absolutely relate.”

Does Kiyoomi regret saying that? Yes, but the regret is tempered by shocking Kuroo Tetsurou into speechlessness for the second time that night. Akaashi high-fives him. Kiyoomi is too drunk to care about germs that much right now and instead revels in the skin contact.

Kuroo finally finds his voice and asks, “Isn’t he dating that Hisoka lookin’ ass middle blocker?”

Kiyoomi smirks and waves a free hand round, “Oh, you know,” he says, mimicking Akaashi’s reaction from earlier. Then, for Akaashi’s benefit, he turns and whispers, “Open relationship.” Akaashi nods in understanding and proceeds to collapse laughing on the table.

* * *

[Slightly shaky photo of Akaashi with his head in his arms on the kotatsu table, which is littered with empty cans and soju bottles. Sakusa’s face is turned away, expression hidden by his dark curls, but he clearly has a hand in Akaashi’s hair.]

 **kuropriv** who ships it  
**nodzuken** me  
**akaaaaashi** kuroo what  
**sakusa.k** see if you’re allowed in our apartment ever again asshole  
**ushiwaka** please do something about it. i’m tired.  
**sakusa.k** traitor.  
**akaaaaashi** @sakusa.k ...w h a t

* * *

Kiyoomi tells himself typing the exact text of this one problem into Google is not cheating if it was given as an extra challenge practice problem and therefore not being graded. He’s been staring at this stupid question on deriving something or other from Gauss’ theorem for an hour and beyond writing down both the integral and differential forms of the equation he has no idea where to begin, but he also knows he will not rest and stop thinking about this problem until he knows the answer. Google says the problem is a translated question that was originally written in English, and an exercise in Jackson’s _Classical Electrodynamics_. Kiyoomi has heard terrible, terrible things about this particular textbook from some of the international grad students.

Kiyoomi finds a solution in English, glares at it for a while, and drops his head onto his desk. _How in the world did someone come up with this trick to solve it what the fuck._

The door to the apartment opens a few hours later. “Hey,” Akaashi greets, “Sorry I’m later than usual; I needed to meet up with my peer review partner for this short story assignment…”

He trails off, and Kiyoomi can sense the exact moment Akaashi puts together the artificial lemon scent in the air, the still drying damp streaks on the dining table, and, most tellingly, Kiyoomi’s own deer-in-headlights look as he stops scrubbing the kitchen sink and stares at his roommate. “Uh, are you doing okay?” asks Akaashi.

Kiyoomi groans and rocks back on his heels. “Fuck physics.”

Akaashi hums in understanding and heads to his room. Kiyoomi finishes attacking the sink with a sponge for a few minutes before he sighs and starts putting his supplies away. Then, Akaashi comes back out to the kitchen and starts heating water in the kettle.

“You’d better not be making coffee, it’s late,” Kiyoomi says disapprovingly.

“I’m making tea,” Akaashi retorts, waving around the chamomile tin, “For you, specifically. Sit your stressed ungrateful ass down at the table.”

“I should get back to my work…”

“Nope.” Then, quieter, “Are you okay with being touched right now?”

Kiyoomi nods, slightly thrown by the question, and almost immediately gets gently manhandled into a chair. Akaashi gives him a very pointed glare and turns back around to pour hot water into two mugs. The slightest tingle runs up Kiyoomi’s spine and he is suddenly very, very glad his mask is still on because there is absolutely no reason he ought to be flustered right now.

A soft _clunk_ of a mug being placed on the table in front of him makes Kiyoomi startle. “Drink,” Akaashi instructs, settling into the other chair. “Then, maybe, you can go back to your room to work.” He pauses for a second, tapping his chin. “Or, you could talk it out with me? I remember even less high school physics than I did last year, but sometimes just thinking out loud helps.”

After unhooking one side of his mask and taking a careful sip of the tea, Kiyoomi huffs, “I literally looked up the solution since it was just a difficult practice problem and I still don’t understand how they did it.”

They end up moving to the kotatsu, later, after the tea is finished and they’re no longer talking about physics but discussing the extent to which intuition is a skill that can be trained through practice, and then, somehow, whether parallel universes exist.

Kiyoomi wakes up the next morning wrapped securely in a blanket on the floor with a vague memory of a hand running through his hair. It’s probably wishful thinking.

* * *

[Photo of Sakusa sitting at their dining table holding a mug in two hands. He has a mask dangling from one ear and several colorful hair clips holding back his hair from his face.]

 **akaaaaashi** breaking news! local prickly roommate secretly a softie. @sakusa.k is not allowed to yell at me for spilling his secrets because today is my birthday and i am invoking birthday rights on this post  
**sakusa.k** bitch  
**akaaaaashi** i have more  
**sakusa.k** happy birthday. you’re still terrible  
**bokutobeam** HAPPY BIRTHDAY AKAASHI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
**kuroo_t** happy birthday!! we’ll chat more tn, @sakusa.k u still sure u dont wanna join  
**sakusa.k** do you need me to send the list of reasons i will not go clubbing with you again

[Photo of Sakusa holding up a snake wrapped around one of his arms, close to but not touching his masked face. His other gloved hand is booping the snake.]

 **akaaaaashi** posting one Soft Sakusa™ photo every time @sakusa.k refuses to wish me happy birthday properly  
**sakusa.k**...happy birthday, akaashi  
**akaaaaashi** wasn’t so hard, was it?  
**kuroo_t** you call a photo with a snake soft????????????? theyre little slippery demons????  
**akaaaaashi** some of us graduated from high school rivalries, kuroo  
**sugurururu** 🐍🐍🐍 (nice taste @sakusa.k)  
**sakusa.k** @sugurururu do i know u lol

* * *

“Is it the mysophobia?”

Kiyoomi blinks and looks up from where he’s been curled up with his laptop under the kotatsu for the last few hours. “What?”

“The germ thing,” Akaashi says from the doorway. “Is that why you still haven’t kissed me?”

“Why I haven’t…” Kiyoomi’s laptop chooses that exact moment to flash one last low battery warning and die, like it’s somehow hardwired to his brain, which has also chosen that exact moment to shut down and die. “ _What?_ ”

Akaashi just blinks. Then he juts out his lower lip slightly into a pout. “Do you _not_ want to kiss me? I'd let you do it through a mask.”

Kiyoomi’s brain finally comes back online enough to take in Akaashi’s flushed face and the way he's pretending that he isn’t leaning heavily on the wall. “You’re drunk,” Kiyoomi states bluntly, deflecting, “How was your first legal night out?”

“Would’ve been better if you were there,” replies Akaashi. He’s toed off his shoes and is now approaching where Kiyoomi remains sitting under the kotatsu.

How the fuck does one respond to that? Yes, it would’ve been better if I were there, because your tipsy blush is adorable and I would really like to kiss you, actually, and you do not want to know the number of times in the past _n_ months I had to stop myself from doing that when Kuroo would come to our apartment to drink and hang out? Absolutely not. Kiyoomi can hear Motoya laughing at him. So he deflects, again, instead. “I don’t turn twenty for another three and a half months, you said you were gonna go clubbing, and even if those weren’t the only places around here that like, actively card, that would still be too many sweaty strangers near me for comfort. Also, you’re still wearing your dirty clothes from that so stop trying to come near me.”

In response, Akaashi startles for a second, digs out hand sanitizer from his pocket, and beelines over to the corner of the kotatsu where Kiyoomi is. He squats down on the floor right next to Kiyoomi, carefully using only his freshly-sanitized hands to touch the furniture for balance and peers at him, pouting again. Akaashi is wearing his contacts tonight, his eyes look bigger than usual, and is that a smudge of eyeliner in the outer corners..?

Oh no. Kiyoomi is going to die. He sighs, reaches for the spray bottle of alcohol he’d used to wipe down the table earlier, and spritzes Akaashi’s forehead with it, using his other hand to shield Akaashi’s eyes and push a stray lock of hair out of the way. Then Kiyoomi drops a quick kiss to the spot he just disinfected, follows it up with a light flick of his fingers, and says, “Wash your face, take out your contacts, and go the fuck to bed.”

Akaashi grins, jumps up from his crouched position, and happily moseys on over to the bathroom. Kiyoomi's heart does this weird little achy thing as he watches Akaashi leave. Eventually, he gets up and heads to the kitchen to get a glass of water to leave with some ibuprofen on Akaashi’s desk before he heads to his own room to plug in his dead laptop.

What the fuck. Brain-Motoya is positively cackling right now. Kiyoomi is fucking _whipped_.

* * *

[First photo: selfie of Sakusa and Akaashi smirking at the camera with their middle fingers up, Sakusa’s arm slung over Akaashi’s shoulder.]  
[Second photo: selfie of Sakusa and Akaashi, Sakusa kissing the side of Akaashi’s head through a face mask and Akaashi smiling sunnily.]

 **sakusa.k** yeah we gay, keep scrolling  
**akaaaaashi 💖💖💖  
****kuroo_t** did akaashi actually listen to me for once in his fucking life?????? damn. i am truly the perfect wingman  
**nodzuken** u speak as if i wasnt the one who kissed u first but ok  
**motomoto** who was the one who got u two to be roommates in the first place? yep. u owe me :p  
**ushiwaka** finally…  
**kuroo_t** yeah ikr

**Author's Note:**

> hello and welcome to my sakuaka cinematic universe where i just split my personality in half and projected the goth physicist side onto sakusa and the overthinking coffee snob side onto akaashi. i lovingly describe this fic as 50 headcanons/chronologically-ordered drabbles in a trenchcoat masquerading as a plot, but it _is_ my first published fic in several years (my old works are hidden...) so thank you very much for reading! please leave a kudos if you enjoyed!
> 
> chapter 2 will cover the rest of their time at waseda and is partially written, but i sure already put off grad school applications for like a month to write this (whoops) so while this fic won't be abandoned i can't really promise a time for the next part.
> 
> i initially tried to make this fic somewhat close to the actual japanese college experience but gave up when i went far enough down the rabbit hole to be looking up actual curricula for intro physics classes at waseda. why? they do not give problem sets. as someone who majored in astrophysics at an american university, i could not fathom this. so i decided i needed to make fellow physics major kiyoomi suffer at least a little bit and promptly decided to throw accuracy out the window.
> 
> anyway, i'm also on **[twitter](https://twitter.com/DARKENERGlES)**! i have many other ideas/hcs about what happens after they graduate, background relationships/characters, and even nsfw (if you're 18+, ofc!) that i may not end up ever actually writing out so absolutely feel free to talk to me there! just drop your @ in the comments or mention me directly so i can be sure to follow you back and we can dm :)


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